


Then and Now

by rainedparade



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10089896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainedparade/pseuds/rainedparade
Summary: A shared moment between battle brothers in a lodge and an unrecorded conversation before touchdown at Istvan III.  Aximand-centric.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The first piece was written with showing a positive aspect of the lodges in light. I would like to think that, were it not for Horus' corruption, Loken might very well have joined.

That was then -- 

-

"Well," Aximand notes, when the two of them have stolen away to the warrior lodge, "I don't think Lucius will be talking trash about you anytime soon."

Loken cracks open an eye and echoes "Legion honor" before raising a limp hand towards a basket of fruit. The grapes in particular glistened in the lantern'd light. His fingers fall short and he finds the fruit not tempting enough so he pulls his hand back and sighs again.

"Well, I suppose it'll be up to you and Ezekyle then," Aximand humors him, leaning forward to pluck a stem of grapes. "Mind you, I've never seen him lose."

"Lucius wouldn't have lost," Loken shrugs, "If he hadn't fought Erebus for so long."

"There you go again," Aximand chides, twisting a grape off and popping it into Loken's mouth, to keep the other from protesting, "You're oddly humble, Garviel. I wouldn't have expected it."

Loken eats the proffered fruit without complaint, crunching against the seeds. The bittersweetness of the flesh -- decidedly ripe but from a bad stock, certainly no chance of being a Terra import when they were this far out -- wakes him fully and he turns slightly so that his back is against the sofa, though his head remains in Aximand's lap. Their eyes meet; slanted but still there, and Aximand curls forward, so that his face was a breath away from Loken's.

"I'm only stating the obvious," Loken protests, voice scraping at a whisper from their proximity, "It was practically cheating. Our beloved first captain would not lower his guard as much."

"And there you go again," Aximand complains, pulling back to take a grape for himself, "His name is Ezekyle, not first captain."

"I forget myself." A pause. "And you're one to talk. You're not at all like what I expected."

"Do you mean all of us?" Aximand asks. And then, almost teasing, "Or just me?"

"Both."

"Well Tarik told us you were straight and narrow, but I didn't expect how much!" Aximand stifles a laugh then, feeding his brother another grape, "Do you remember the fuss you kicked up, when I was trying to get you to join?"

"Well," Loken flushes, swallowing the fruit before answering. He is still somewhat defensive, "I had heard such things about these groups..."

"And yet here you are," Aximand palms at his cheek before sliding his thumb into the other's mouth, stroking at the ridge of teeth, "Were this a crime, you'd be just as guilty as us, wouldn't you say?"

Loken opens his mouth to fully accept the thumb before biting down, a nip rather than a crunch.

" _I_ am guilty of nothing," he insists, still so slightly haughty.

Aximand laughs outright at that.

"Oh, you beautiful wretched thing!" the captain of the fifth company proclaims. With an ease of motion available exclusively to their kind, he slips out from underneath the other as Loken slithers up to lay claim to the whole of the sofa. Aximand grins before climbing on so that he was on top of the other on his forearms and knees. And then they are face-to-face, smiling with equal amounts of affection and exasperation.

"Would you believe me," Aximand murmurs, dipping closer to press their noses together, "If I told you I argued against your inclusion?"

"To the Mournival?" Loken's breath is warm against his lips; his mouth curved in a smile Aximand can feel more than see. "I'd believe that," he easily answers, "But what reasons did you have?"

"Because you're not a true son," Aximand admits, "And I doubted -- however inane -- the extent of your loyalty to the Warmaster."

Loken laughs, a delightful sound that sends shivers down Aximand's spine. He takes no offense, raising a hand up to press against Aximand's face. The broad plain of his forehead to his aquiline nose, the sweep of his hardened eyes to the high rise of his cheekbones. Loken inclines his head so that their noses are touching once more.

"I think you're just biased," he teases.

"In a sense," Aximand admits, tilting himself so that his forehead was pressed up against the other's, "But now that I've gotten used to you, your blond hair has grown on me."

"So you've told me."

"Mm," Aximand pulls away to tangle one hand through said locks, "It's just... so different though." He laughs, "Sometimes I can't believe we're brothers."

"I suppose," Loken leans into his touch before reaching for Aximand's namesake lock, tugging on the end, "It's a small wonder the three of you keep such different cuts. I'd have trouble telling you apart otherwise."

"Now you're just being cruel," Aximand laments, "How could anyone mistake me to be Ezekyle? Or Tarik?"

"I don't know," Loken chuckles, "But you can ask the file officers. There's quite a joke of it, from their whispers at our meetings."

Aximand huffs, blowing air onto the other, "I've changed my mind, it was a terrible idea to bring you into our fold." He straddles Loken and begins to pat the other down, touching and groping the loose fabric of his robes. "Come on," he insists, even as Loken's biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing, "Where is the lodge medal I gave you? I know you have it on you."

"I can't say," Loken splutters out, and Aximand falls forward, onto his brother, for how long the other has waited to say those words.

"Now you're learning," Aximand mutters.

"Quite quickly, wouldn't you say?" Loken answers, shifting his legs upwards so that their limbs were twined.

"Too quick."

"No," Loken wraps his hands about Aximand's waist, digging his fingers in with a perfect amount of pressure. "Just right."

-

-

-

And this is now --

-

Where there once were four, it is now just the two of them, silently taking inventory of their weapons and armors while waiting for the Thunderhawk to drop down.

Aximand is polishing his blade, a massive slab of metal he has yet to name, when Abaddon cuts through the silence.

"I'll face Loken."

This simple declaration sinks his heart like a stone.

"This is really it, isn't it?" he answers, laughing weakly. "We're actually going to kill them."

"I'll face Loken," Abaddon repeats.

It was no secret that he had grown fond of Loken in the time the other had spent in the Mournival. What surprised him was that Abaddon, who had grown fond of him too, was not much affected.

"You don't need to," Aximand protests, a sound even weaker than his laughter. In truth he had seen the chance for a true brother in Loken, and his heart of hearts screamed at the upcoming battle. "My loyalties to the Warmaster are unshakeable."

But Abaddon shakes his head and repeats himself a second time: "I'll face Loken."

"Ezekyle," it'd be more touching if he weren't already close to tears, "There's no need to treat me like a child. If it's come to this, then I -- " he swallows, "I'd like to be the one to end it."

Abaddon chuckles and the sound is as rotted as the trees on Davin.

"Is that what you think this is about, Little Horus?" the first captain asks. He turns to his brother and places a hand on his shoulder, and in the moment Aximand looks at the other's face, he sees a grief more palpable than his own. "I can't. And I will never ask this of you again. I will be the one to face Loken."

Aximand nods, biting his cheek.

So. It had never been about the blossoming friendship between himself and Loken. No, it had been about Abaddon and Torgaddon, the half of the Mournival that had lasted throughout their dozen iterations. He feels foolish for not having seen it, and then another burst of anger at their brothers for pushing them all of this point.

"I will be the one to kill Tarik," he states, and the blasphemy rests bitter on his tongue. "I will be the one to kill Tarik if you ask me to."

Abaddon lets go of him and looks away, eyes blinking rapidly.

"Please."

It's the last thing he says before the fight starts.


End file.
